


mark my words, we’ll be fine someday (someday, maybe noneday)

by sleepdeprivedmaniac



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: F/F, I'm sorry that I like seeing my faves suffer, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, it's not graphic tho, more characters/relationships will be added as this goes on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 12:04:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13926774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepdeprivedmaniac/pseuds/sleepdeprivedmaniac
Summary: “We’re gonna get out of her one day,” she says suddenly, and Mina snorts.“Are you suddenly a prophet?”Tzuyu shakes her head. “No."“I thought you gave that up a long time ago."“I did, but I have a feeling.”(For now, it’s all they have.)





	mark my words, we’ll be fine someday (someday, maybe noneday)

**Author's Note:**

> So this is one of like, four side projects I'm working on as well as three cheers. I have a plan for it being a multi-chapter, but it could honestly work as a one shot as well so tell me if you want more. Hope you enjoy :)

        She hates this.                                                                                                                        

        She hates this feeling that makes her hands clammy and crawls up and around, like she swallowed a centipede. It’s suffocating from the outside and the inside, hot air permeating the shield of her skin and crushing her lungs, and she for a moment she wishes that she had not made the choice she did. But then she thinks of the alternative, and shivers. No, this is much better.

        It’s loud in The Hall, a room the size of a classroom which they (not her, the men) dubbed as such. They eat their meals there, they go over their spoils from raids, they—. Mina shakes her head.

        (They do dirty, disgusting things that she can’t think about without shaking.)  

        She’s frozen as the men cheer, sloshing around the drink in their mugs and groping their women. It’s barbaric, archaic, and reminds her of times when Vikings conquered the earth like she’s read in stories. A time they should’ve been past, considering that it was millennia ago, but in trying times people revert to their base instincts: hunger, thirst, shelter, and sex.

        Whiskey spills out of a nearby mug and onto her dress, white and sheer to the point of revealing. She stays frozen, wincing as the alcohol burns her skin through cloth that feels like tissue paper. She already knows the sticky mess it’ll make on her thigh, staying there until she’ll next get to shower who-knows-when. _You shouldn’t go tonight_ , she remembers. The near same echoes in her mind.

        _You shouldn’t have gone tonight unnie_ , she hears, and sighs.

       _He wanted someone, and it wasn’t about to be you._  

       _You know I can take care of myself Minari_.

       _But you shouldn’t have to!_ She near yells. She feels the slight tremble of a feeling that’s not hers, shaky and small, but impactful all the same. It’s all she can feel, despite the heart stopping thumps of the drums and the chilling cheers coming from intoxicated savages. She doesn’t speak—think, more appropriately—and hopes that the feeling of regret she’s projecting is more than enough.

      _I don’t need anything happening to you_ , comes something small and subtle. She can almost imagine the words being whispered in her ear. The thought makes the air slightly less suffocating, creates a bubble where she finally feels like she could breathe. She doesn’t notice the telling groans of furniture would make her tense up.

      _Something already has_ , she thinks grimly, _and it’s time that you stop being the protector. I’m older anyways._

      She can almost feel the other girl’s presence beside her, feel her tremble with effort to contain her opinions, to not speak strongly. They’re too easily spooked, like the horses Mina worked with when she was young. _You’ve done enough_ , Tzuyu starts, but the connection is cut by a rough, clammy grip on her arm.

      “Not enjoying the meal?” she hears, and she looks up to a large man—THE large man—who reeks of alcohol and whose grip is too harsh on her delicate skin. Boren. His words make her glance at her plate; it’s spotless. She didn’t have much of an appetite. 

      She stays silent, not sure if his question was rhetorical. The punishment for not answering may be intimidating, but she’s learned not to speak unless spoken to, and even then to wait until given explicit permission. Yeah, she’s learned. 

      “Speak!” he shouts. Mina swears she can feel the grime and dirt fly out with his spit, wants to strip her skin if only to get as clean as she can. There will always be a phantom, no matter how long she scrubs.

      “I-I wasn’t very hungry.” Her voice trembles, and she realizes that Boren’s presence has made the hall go silent when they suddenly erupt into laughter. She didn’t think her response was meant to be humorous. 

      Boren chuckles darkly and turns to the man to her right. “Make sure she eats,” he booms, dropping pound upon pound of meat on her plate. Mina whimpers. “I don’t like my whores skinny.” 

      She squeaks when his grip tightens, another hand coming up to grasp her shoulder roughly. He leans down and whispers in her ear, not the calming ghost that earlier had set her free, but the demon dragging her down to be burnt. Dread fills up like a watering can, and she closes her eyes tightly as she hears, “and when you’re done, you know where to find me. You should know that I love the color white.” He nips her earlobe and she chokes back a whimper tenses her muscles so that she doesn’t twitch. She knows what each means. A sound means complacency, and movement means resistance. Neither are very good options.

      After he leaves, she gulps and looks down at the mountain of meat in front of her. Most of those in the hall jeer and scream, although some women look at her with sympathy; those her size, those who were captured, those who _know_. She starts eating.

      When her fork can lay flat on the plate, she can’t move. Her chest feels blocked and she feels like she’s going to puke. The sympathizers rush over with a bucket and a cold, wet towel, wiping her forehead and rubbing her stomach. The rest don’t care about her health, only until one of the girls starts to lift her. _Yerin_ , she recognizes with heavy-lidded eyes. 

       “Aye!” the man slurs. “You can’t take her, Boren wants ‘er!”                                                     

       “Yeah? Well does he want her to puke all over his cock? Cause that’s what’s going to happen if she doesn’t rest,” the girl retorts. She’s brave. Mina wishes she were brave. 

       The drunk catches her arm, providing resistance to Yerin’s efforts. “Doesn’t matter. What Boren wants, Boren gets.” He pushes her away and lifts Mina easily, which didn’t help with her nausea at all. She groans as her carries her to Boren’s quarters, down the longest corridor in the world. She can’t tell If she wants the trip to go quicker or longer.

       The man doesn’t even bother to knock when they get there, swinging the door open with his shoulder. Boren’s not surprised, not mad, and he’s sitting nearly naked on the bed with an open robe. She’s set on two feet with minimal tact, swaying slightly due to the nausea and stomachache.

        “Took you long enough,” he says. He rolls of the bed and comes to a stop at her feet, toying with her hair around his fingers. He whispers, “I don’t like to be kept waiting.” Mina averts her eyes, swallowing deeply and shallowly breathing thin air.  

        “Strip.”   

        She stays still, trembling ever so slightly. It’s not like she can pretend she didn’t hear him—the room’s empty, his voice is loud, and the echoes of that awful word can still be heard. Her limbs aren’t moving, no matter how much she tells them to. She thinks if she’s still for long enough, rigor mortis will set in.

         ( _I learned about that from my uncle,_ she thinks, not out of reverence but necessity. _I was ten._ )

         “Strip,” he repeats, and she still can’t move. Boren scoffs. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.” 

         The cold air suddenly hitting her body makes her shiver as the dress is torn away, the rough leader ripping the thin fabric down the middle. She stands, eyes focused on the back wall as he circles her body. A body he’s seen a million times, that’s marked with bruises and cuts and things she would’ve never imagined seven years ago. His lips press and nip up her neck, and his hands trail opposite ways, one to her breast and the other to a bare hill. Mina closes her eyes. 

          She closes her eyes, cuts off the connection, and imagines that she’s somewhere far, far away, miles or eons or centuries ago. She pretends it’s someone else’s hands on her, someone else kissing her; a phantom maybe, because the person she imagined first doesn’t deserve to be viewed that way, to be desired as Mina is herself. 

           When she looks to the ceiling, she sees the starry night sky.                                                                            

 

 

           Tzuyu’s reading when she enters their shared space, stepping slowly and softly. It’s thick, and it’s new, but she already looks halfway through. Smart girl. Mina holds herself tightly, feeling bare despite the long shirt she’s clutching at like a lifeline. She comes to a stop at the younger girl’s feet, and sits. 

           _Why did you cut the link,_ Tzuyu asks, scanning over the pages.

           _You know why. It’s what we agreed to. You shouldn’t be surprised anymore._

Tzuyu sighs, resting the book in one hand and opening her arms, allowing Mina to fall into her. She grabs at the taller girl’s tunic, breathing in her scent that never changes no matter how dirty she gets. It’s all the warm spices her mother used to put in her hot chocolate; nutmeg and cinnamon the most potent of all. She relaxes into her, the exhaustion finally settling into her bones and making her eyelids droop. 

          “What are you reading?” she asks softly. Tzuyu hums, and Mina feels the vibration from where her lips meet her throat.  

          “I don’t know, but it talks a lot about stars. Constellations and stuff, your sort of thing.” She says this in the offhand way she says everything else, brushing it off as a contrast to letting it seep in. Guess whose technique is whose. 

          “You learn anything?”

          “Yeah,” she says. Mina makes a sound that she pretends is a question, instead of a small groan when Tzuyu runs her fingers up and down her spine.

          “I learned that you’re more beautiful than any star I’ll ever see.” 

          She giggles, distracted with sliding her index over Tzuyu’s collarbone. “You’re a whole cheeseball, Ms. Chou.”

          “Oh why thank you, Princess Myoui.”  

          Their banter makes her think they’re someone else, somewhere else. She knows what her companion is trying to do, and she’s grateful, but it only serves to remind her how unfair this world is. During Mina’s silence they’ve shifted off of the wall they were leaning against, now laying across from each other on the mess of three blankets they sometimes call a bed.

          Tzuyu’s eyes are open more than they usually are when she’s drowsy, they’re a bit wide and shining in concern or tears (or concerned tears, but no stains are on her face.)

 Mina doesn’t flinch when she presses their mouths together, doesn’t try and swallow the needy whine that escapes her throat. It’s less of a spur of passion than it is a comfort, a silent showing of love and solidarity. Love, if you can call it that, for them was more of a desperation, being brought together by shared experiences and the need to have someone to cry to. A tear escapes Mina’s eye, and the other girl quickly wipes it away before moving her hand to stroke at her hip. She pulls back, kissing the tears off her face and ending with a peck on the lips.

         “Minari~” she sing songs, bringing a closed fist into their vision. Her face scrunched up in concentration, fading when she starts to uncurl her hand. A dahlia unfurls, its many petals a beautiful dark magenta color. She lifts her hand, tucking the flower behind Mina’s ear. Mina smiles _. I’m afraid I can’t grow you a tulip_ , she thinks.

         “You don’t have to,” Tzuyu replies. _You’re more than enough goes unspoken_ , but conversations from before set the example. Sometimes, a voice is not needed.

         “We’re gonna get out of her one day,” she says suddenly, and Mina snorts.

         “Are you suddenly a prophet?” 

         Tzuyu shakes her head. “No, but I’m someone with a small sliver hope that we’ll see the stars again, and that I can grow as many flowers for you as I want.”

         Mina brings their hands together, her thumb running over the smooth skin. “I thought you gave that up a long time ago,” she says softly. 

         “I did, but I have a feeling.” The younger girl connects their foreheads, taking her elder into her arms. She pecks the bridge of Mina’s nose before closing her eyes, her breathing evening out. Mina does the same, and goes to sleep thinking about hope.                                     

         (For now, it’s all they have.)

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments and criticisms are appreciated, and let me know if you want more of this.


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